Chapter 16: Not a Kid's Toy

It is hard to say what fear truly was, but if anyone would ever know its meaning it would have to be one Rodger Smith. Smith was a god in his past when it came to fear. Hell, he used to rule one of the greatest fears of all time, but he gave it up for a life. Yet, here he found himself in the very same place where it all began: the Ghost Zone. It had been a few centuries since the last time he had even gotten near a portal, yet, once upon a time, he had owned almost every nook and cranny of the Ghost Zone. In fact, he had made it what it was today.

The imposter sighed as he neared Vlad's gate to the Ghost Zone. He actually prayed that it was true that all the ghosts were leaving that plane because he couldn't hide his true form in the realm of the dead. And if he suddenly appeared, he'd either be blamed or expected to fix the growing problem in the Ghost Zone. Either way, it was quite unfortunate to be old and powerful.

Smith scratched his dark mane and was about to turn his back on the ghost portal and forget the whole thing. He didn't really want to go in there in the first place, but he needed to see if what he thought was happening was truly occurring. If so, the awakening was closer than anticipated. Truthfully, he could try sending Gibgit or the Tucker-boy to visit the ghost child to get the answers he needed, but the clueless godfather was keeping a watchful eye. Which, technically, is what he wanted in a champion, but it still offered a hurtle he wasn't in the mood to deal with. Sweet Zeus, nothing was going his way this century.

Smith sighed and listened to the ethereal calling of the Ghost Zone's portal. It was bidding him to step inside and stay, that he was almost home.

Staring at the gate for a moment more, feeling his true form shiver under his skin with the promise of release, Smith took in a breath ... and held onto his human form. No, he wasn't ready. There was still a chance to fix all of this without giving up this human life. He wasn't ready to go back. He had been denied the sun for so long and the thought of having it taken away, of spending endless centries in the gloom of the Ghost Zone, was too much.

Turning his back to the swirling gate, deciding it would be easier to question the boy, Smith only got the smallest of warning before something was suddenly flying out of the Ghost Zone's portal and right through his form.

Shivering violently, his whole form being molested by the fly through, Smith turned around to see someone he really, really, didn't want to see. It was a rather ruffled time wizard.

It was true that Clockwork rarely left his clock tower so what Smith had feared most must already be happening. The Ghost Zone was turning into a corrupt place, a plane for hungry souls; a demon's collection, a pot of horrors.

Shifting his shoulders to seem more regal, Smith looked at the ruffled ghost with a frown. Why hadn't the time ghost seen this coming? That was his job. That was why a time ghost was put in the Ghost Zone when it was created.

The answer was almost immediate when the time keeper's staff caught the light, the main centerpiece cracked and crippled like the tool had been purposefully targeted. Well, at least he had his answer. Clockwork got most of his time abilities from his staff, and without it ... he was on the same playing field as most ghosts.

Well, without it he probably won't recognize me in my human form, bitterly thought Smith, but knowing Clockwork he might still know.

Clockwork, meanwhile, was trying to reclaim his calm composure as he ran his hand over his broken time staff despondently. This was untimely to put it lightly. Why hadn't he seen that attack coming, and why had those things seemed to focus and snatching his tool?

Because that warmonger knows you are no guard and that time anomaly helped him thought Clockwork forlornly. In other words, he wasn't supposed to see it coming.

The time ghost tightened his grip on his staff and tiredly looked back down at the swirling vortex, whispering, "He knew my weakness and has had nothing but time to plot. Not everything can be foreseen. And At least I kept the clock tower from falling to him. If nothing else, at least the others will not be allowed to leave."

Sighing, the spirit adjusted his staff to try and calm himself. It had been a long time since he felt so powerless. Time had been at his beck and call for so long. His staff had allowed him to be like an editor of a book, skipping back and forth as needed, but now … now he was part of the story again with little control. He hadn't felt like a prisoner of the timeline in so long that he almost forgot what it was like to have to live every second and every hour. In fact, he was so unnerved that he almost jumped when he heard a soft shuffling behind him.

The timekeeper's neck snapped as he looked around in a hurry, his gaze finally noticing that there was a human butler in the room looking up at him, seemingly unafraid. Clockwork immediately frowned at the other being due to his oddity alone. True, cultural norms change, but he was fairly certain that humans in this century still run and scream when confronting a ghost. At least this explained what he flew through ... even though a human wouldn't have been his first guess. Something was off here.

"You," bit out Smith as he tried to keep his voice even, forgetting he was in his human form. "Are not supposed to be here."

Smith tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He really had. He knew he should have run off and acted human, but his disappointment was too much. Clockwork was supposed to remain in the Ghost Zone at all times, to foresee these types of circumstances and keep them from happening. He was meant to keep it in balance, and yet he was here escaping to the human realm with a broken staff no less. That tool was a thing of immense power and without it, Clockwork was just like any other spirit.

In other words ... Clockwork was useless to him.

Said time keeper stared at the strange man, not the least bit offended or angry. Instead, a feeling of déjà vu ran down his spine as he unapologetically stared. This human was too normal. He did not belong.

"The better question," said Clockwork as he calmly floated down from the ceiling, slowly circling around the human, "Is who are you? You blend in too easily, almost like an oversight or an easily discarded memory. You wear the disguise of a servant, a mere butler, but you wear that persona wrong. But what is most troubling is how badly a part of me wants to look past you, to forget you, but I am too old for such tricks."

I've outsmarted older, thought Smith smugly as he straightened his spine figuring he had made the plunge, he just as well swim to the other side of the river.

"You made a vow," Smith's words were cold, disappointed that the ancient safeguards of the Ghost Zone were collapsing, "to watch over time and to keep the Ghost Zone balanced. Yet here you are in the human realm. Have you abandoned your vows or were you merely too weak to keep them?"

Clockwork, for a moment, was bewildered. The oldest part of him, before he had been bestowed with his staff and its heavy burden, wanted to ask for forgiveness as if he were a mere servant again. Yet this man was not one of the Masters of the Ghost Zone, the old gods as the younger spirits called them, he wasn't even an Observer. He was a mere man. A knowledgeable man that would need investigation, but a man nonetheless.

And yet, as soon as he thought it, Clockwork realized that was wrong. This butler was not a man. He would not be compelled so easily into looking away.

"What are you? Are you one of the warmonger's pawns? Are you a thing caught between life and death, corrupt and hungry?" asked Clockwork, floating closer, trying to catch a fault in this man's disguise.

Smith's gloved hands became fists. Achilles' heel, Clockwork would break through his disguise at this rate. He couldn't allow that. He had been playing human for too long. He did not want to go back into the gloom of the Ghost Zone, chained to responsibilities he did not want and hidden from the light.

And so, calling on old powers, his eyes glinting a golden color, he whispered, "I will not be chained to that throne again, Clockwork. I have paid my dues."

Clockwork stalled, the glow of yellow catching his gaze. He hissed as if immediately noticing his mistake in looking, but without his staff to protect him, he could not look away. He could still be corrupted by suggestions.

And so, Smith's form already shaking as he struggled to hold a ghost as old as Clockwork under his spell, the infiltrator murmured a suggestion, "Clockwork, don't you have bigger problems than observing the oddities of a meaningless man you found in the basement?"

Clockwork, even though his fingers were twitching on his staff as if part of him knew what was happening, seemed to succumb. His gaze became more and more placid, his red eyes even gained a glassy look before finally turning yellow so that they matched Smith's gaze.

Nodding his head, his tone almost monotone, the time lord whispered, "Yes, I do … I need … I need … to do something about the escapee and the corruption forming in the Ghost Zone. I must restore balance. I must act as consul."

Smith nodded, his hands shaking as he struggled to keep a hold of the other being, almost glad that Clockwork had broken his staff.

"Yes, consul," said Smith, wondering how far he could push Clockwork's will without the ghost noticing interference, "Find a powerful spirit. A champion if you will to help you restore that balance. Perhaps you can even persuade the huntsman of the house to help you in your search. A ghost named Skulker."

Clockwork, his one eye twitching at this point, was starting to break through the manipulator's call. This had to end now or Smith would risk revealing himself. Thankfully, as if a deep part of Clockwork agreed with the suggestion, the time keeper nodded his head. And then, slowly, just so painfully slowly, the spirit floated upward and through the ceiling.

Rodger, who had been barely holding it together, collapsed against a nearby table, sweating profusely as his hands shook and his eyes faded to their normal color. That was close. He might not survive another encounter with Clockwork. His staff might be broken, but the time keeper was chosen for his position for many reasons. He was smart, resourceful, and saw through all spells sooner or later. Hopefully, when all his plans were done, Smith would be long gone before Clockwork knew to look for him.

…

Danny rolled over trying to fall back asleep. This was the third time he had stirred from his uneasy rest. He hadn't been able to fall back asleep because the murders kept flashing before his eyes.

Sitting up, ruffling the blankets, the teenager looked around his darkened room in defeat, noting that his godfather had fallen asleep in a chair in the room. Danny just sat there in a waking daze watching his godfather's head slowly collapse into his chest.

Watching the older halfa's chest rise and fall in a hypnotic motion, Danny tried to gather his thoughts.

At present, Danny knew without his ghost powers he didn't have a chance against the demon. And though his trust in Vlad had grown exponentially, he still didn't want the man knowing just how helpless he really was. Well, mostly helpless. He still didn't know what those powers were on the bridge, but if Tucker and Sam had taught him anything: human didn't really mean helpless.

Smiling bitterly at the thought of his two friends, Danny decided that he should take precautions for tomorrow especially since they were going to a hospital. Danny refused to be defenseless especially since Vlad would certainly live up to his promise. In fact, it was a surprise that the man hadn't forced him to go after the waking nightmare he had at the dinner table. True, he could just tell Vlad about the vision, but the fruitloop was his arch-nemesis! Or at least mostly used to be, but it was best not to place all his trust in the billionaire. Vlad was technically a villain after all.

Sighing at the thought, Danny quietly escaped his room. He even managed to ignore an encounter with Skulker. He didn't want anyone to see him about, because that would put a serious dent in his plans.

The teenager smiled when he finally found what he was looking for, about forty minutes of creeping around corners later. It was Vlad's private study.

Looking both ways, Danny tiptoed to the door and opened it as quietly as he could before he snuck in.

Once he had found the light switch, he asked himself, "If I was a lonely psychopathic fruitloop in his forties and in need of a cat where would I hide the lever to my secret underground lab where I develop all my evil experiments?"

Danny stalled after he heard himself speak, "Wow, I think I have been around the cheese head too long … I'm speaking my inner monolog out loud."

Soon, the teenager was acting like a kid in a candy store touching and pulling at everything in sight. After thirty minutes of aimlessly pulling books off the shelf and then placing them back the teenager sighed, gave up, and leaned against the fireplace.

Only to find what he was looking for.

Click.

"Huh … Ahhhhhh!" cried Danny as he fell backward, the fireplace swinging open as the teenager fell down a set of stone steps.

"Ahhhh! Ouch! Eeek!"

And then the second set of steps...

"Help! No! Ahhh!"

And finally the third set…

"Owh! Eeek! CRASH!"

Danny cursed violently as he pulled himself off the cold floor, grabbing his abused head. Then once he was done cursing, the youth quickly checked to see if anything had been broken or if he had accidentally been decapitated. If he wasn't half-ghost he probably would be dead.

Well ... deader.

"Nope, all-important limbs are accounted for," grumbled the half-ghost as he rubbed his abused shoulder, throwing a glare up at the stairs, "I'm watching you stairs. A bloody death trap you are! Hasn't Vlad ever heard of an elevator?"

Limping forward, clutching his scarred arm close, Danny was silently glad he had not smacked it too hard on his way down. Though, he knew he had instinctively protected it as best as he could on the way down.

Wincing at his forming bruises, the teenager looked about. A few blinking lights and glowing tests tubes serving as his only light source in the room. Figuring he just as wells find a light switch, the teenager tried to wander around the lab but only managed to stumble over something.

Picking himself off of the floor for the third time, after tripping over one thing or the other, Danny cursed the lack of his powers … though his mind mentally scolded him for being too reliant on them anyway and that a smarter man would have brought a light source.

Danny slapped his forehead cursing himself again for being poorly prepared … only to have the lights come on.

"Wonderful," grumbled Danny as he glared up at the lights. "Clapping lights. I should have known."

Dusting himself off, just glad that he wasn't in the dark anymore, the teenager glanced around the lab. It was impressive, he would admit that, but he was only looking for one thing. Ah, there it was. Just what he needed, hanging on the wall like prizes: ghost weaponry.

Never in his whole life had he been glad to see ghost weapons, but with the excitement of a hyperactive child, Danny began to throw open glass panels looking for the perfect weapon. He needed something small yet powerful. After about ten minutes, a smile formed on his lips. He had found it: the Gnome.

The Gnome was originally Jack's invention meant to battle gnome ghosts (which his dad was positive were far more powerful than dwarf ghosts), but Vlad had obviously made a few adjustments to its design. It promised to pack a punch if looks were anything to go on.

Fiddling with the small weapon for a moment, Danny looked over its golden and lime green surface. It was a pudgy weapon with a tiny satellite dish at the end. It even had the tacky 'M' trademark on the butt of the gun which secretly irritated Danny to no end. He'd pick the logo off later if he could.

Finally pocketing the thing, the teenager was about to continue his search when a chill ran up his back. A part of him wanted to call it a Ghost Sense kind of chill, but a hundred times weaker.

Not one to turn down what could be a warning, the youth turned around quickly, grabbing something off the table to defend himself with as he barked, "Who's there?!"

The Dairy King, a few yards away, froze in his tracks and stared at Danny with wide eyes. The plump king then chuckled and jollily proclaimed, "I'm the Dairy King, don't cha-ya-know, and I am not looking for salami."

"Huh?" questioned the teenager as he looked down to see what he had grabbed off the table. "A salami log. Eww, and it's warm. Why is this even in his lab?! Vlad sure has some nasty eating habits."

Disgusted, the teen dropped the column of meat back down making a sour face, partially realizing that perhaps the pig's feet he had found earlier in the kitchen had not been Skulker's. He then glanced up at the Dairy King and stated, "It's been a while, but I remember you. Honestly, I'm surprised that you are still here."

"Well, where else would I be? I live here," chuckled the plump spirit before he leaned in and asked, "You haven't seen the huntsman about, have you? Someone's been a-looking for him. Something about a consul. Supposed to be an important meeting taking place, yah-know."

"A meeting?" inquired Danny as he wiped his hands on his not-panda pajamas. He personally didn't like the sound of that. Honestly, he just didn't like any sentences that had Skulker in them, but that wasn't his present problem. Who was looking for Skulker of all ghosts and why were ghosts having a meeting? Was it to celebrate Danny Phantom's house arrest? He didn't think Vlad would be that petty, but he wouldn't put it past the other halfa to want to gloat. Either way, he decided he would be crashing it.

Trying not to smile, the need for adventure always present ever since he became Phantom, Danny asked, "So, any idea where this gathering is supposed to take place or when?"

The cheese ghost looked at him as if trying to decide if Danny was dead enough to have the knowledge. In the end, he must have decided nah-it'll-be-fine and boldly echoed, "Well, sounds like they want to have it here. It is the nearest stable ghost portal after all. Don't know the time though, but it'll likely be soon."

"Oh … that's just great," groused Danny, wondering if Vlad really wanted anyone in his castle. Either way, Danny knew he needed to sleep and gather his strength. If he wanted to get his powers back and get his revenge, he needed to be healthy.

'Though you could always just tell Vlad what happened at Fenton's Works; he would destroy that beast for both of you,' whispered a traitorous voice in his head.

Danny stalled on the stairs for a moment to actually dwell on this option before his arm gave a painful ache reminding him how angry he really was and how he needed to destroy the demon himself ... even if he had to do it while human.

…

Skulker sat in the tallest room in the tallest tower of the castle. It was the room Vlad had designated as the hunter's space. It was a large room adorned in stuffed heads, hanging weapons, and a few hanging cages with strange little tentacle creatures in them. It was a hunter's paradise, a small little lab included for personal projects.

Currently, the owner of the room was sharpening his weaponry. Not that his knife collection wasn't sharp enough the way it was, but it just helped him think. Though, he nearly sliced off a metallic finger when a figure seeped up through the floor, a calm voice asking, "Are you the hunter? I require something from you."

Skulker, glaring at the spliced wiring of his finger, quickly looked up, frowning and ready to throw said knife at whoever dare interrupt his peace. It wasn't Vlad. There wasn't an ounce of smugness in the speaker's tone.

His fingers failed him though, the knife falling to the floor and embedding itself in the wood. The words had died in the hunter's throat as quickly as he had started to form them, his vocalizer creating a whining noise as he stared. He had never met this ghost before, the one that now floated before him. His visitor was like a legend, like a fairy tale told amongst the dead. He was ancient and most well-read spirits knew the description of his staff and of his face. The imposing authority and cool collective power just oozed from him.

And every ghost knew better than to deny a request from him because he was also an omen of terrible things to come.

Despite himself, despite how his voice box was still resetting, Skulker whispered carefully, "… You're Clockwork, aren't you? I can't say I'm excited to see you."

At that Clockwork gave a brief smile, his words almost candid, "What? Do you not wish to know the time? I'd hate for anyone to miss anything important."

Yeah, Skulker could already tell that he was going to hate this.

…

That morning, after Vlad had spent about thirty minutes fussing over him and asking if there was any residual pain, Danny managed to convince his godfather that he was fine and did not need to be wheeled into the hospital in a wheelchair. He could walk just fine. Neither of his legs had fallen off during the episode last night. He promised.

Honestly, the teen would have rather weaseled his way out of the checkup altogether, but sometimes one had to choose their battles.

Yet, when they pulled up to the hospital, they couldn't help but note that there were cops all around as well as investigators. Danny, sinking back into the limo's seat, felt he should have fought harder to get out of a checkup. Now, there was no denying it. Before seeing the cops, there could have always been a shadow of a doubt that he had imagined the murder of the mother and the doctor. He might have never discovered that the vision was real.

"Daniel? Are you alright, you look pale?" asked Vlad as he peered out the window. He could have gone to any hospital in Madison, WI, but Raven Heights Hospital had some very reputable doctors. That arm needed more care than either of them liked to admit. And the injury was obliviously the source of all of Daniel's aliments, and Vlad wanted it fixed. How could he ever make anything of the boy if he was too ill and tired to even transform? At least that's what Vlad was starting to guess. It was just so odd that Danny Phantom hadn't made any appearances since the fire. In fact, calling in a ghost healer might be in order if things didn't start improving. This whole injury might be ghost-related.

"I, it's just … I'm nervous. I … don't much like hospitals anymore," whispered Danny as he watched what had to be a tote of evidence being placed in the back of a police van. He couldn't help but wonder if there was even enough of the baby left to be placed in an evidence bag.

Vlad, raising a brow, looked at the teenager for a minute before offering a careful smile, "I understand Daniel. After my case of … echo acne … I didn't care for hospitals either. Do not worry though. It's just a few tests. You'll be fine."

Danny, slouching in his seat, glared at Vlad's back as the man exited the car, clutching his ribs slightly before his decorative cane hit the payment. Danny personally felt the older man was milking his injuries just a little with the cane, but then again he had a feeling it just wasn't any ordinary cane. The skull on the top had glowing eyes and probably was one of the magical items the older half had nicked from the Ghost Zone. Not that he blamed Vlad. He obviously didn't want to be caught off-guard again.

Relenting after a raised brow from Vlad, Danny pushed his hands into his pockets and sulked as he followed him inside. They didn't even have to wait in the waiting room once the front desk knew who they were, a pretty nurse asking for them to follow her.

...

Cane rhythmically clicking against the floor, they slowly walked down the hall. Vlad, feeling it was best to distract Daniel from his coming torment, tried to continue their conversation from supper last night: about the private school. He had not given up convincing Daniel that he'd like it. It was conveniently located on the outskirts of Madison so the teen wouldn't have to use the dorms; it had top-ranking faculty and facilities; and it would be a perfect place for Daniel to create powerful connections. After all, the only way to get into Red Raven Academy for the Gifted was by money or a scholarship.

And yet, as Vlad spoke about the school, it became increasingly obvious that the teen wasn't listening to a thing he said. The youth just kept gawking at any passing officers and inside any open doors. It was as if he was looking for something. Yes, Vlad was a little curious as well about why there were so many officers on the premises, but the hospital was not closed down so he figured whatever it was couldn't be too important.

"Daniel? Does that sound good to you?" finally finished Masters hoping that the younger half-ghost had caught at least some of what he had said, especially the last part about when to start classes.

"Yeah, yeah, sure. That's fine," agreed Danny as he watched a blond detective pass by, holding something. What kind of evidence was that? Could it possibly lead back to him in some way?

"Really? Well, I'm glad you agreed so easily to go to Red Raven Academy. I didn't even have to bring out the threat of being homeschooled by Skulker," joked Vlad, a wicked smile forming on his lips as he watched his godchild sputter and stall in the hall.

"Wait. What? Oh, no, no, no. I am not going to one of those rich kid schools. I refuse to go," ground out the teenager, ignorant that the nurse had finally stopped in front of a door and was just watching the two stare each other down.

Vlad, probably too achy to really want a fight, shook his head and in a no-negotiations tone, grumbled, "I will have no backtalk from you today, little badger. You need an education, especially if you ever want to even get within ten feet of NASA's walls. You need this rich kid's -as you put it- education."

He then finished with words that Danny had only heard from his mother, "I'm only looking out for your wellbeing. I'm trying to take care of you."

Danny, too shocked to even offer a retort, just stood there in complete shock. Vlad had just sounded … He just sound like a parent. Oh, sweet Christmas dinner! It was happening. It was happening right in front of him and his injured little bird health hadn't helped manners. Vlad was turning over to the dark side: the DAD side.

"Mr. Masters?" interrupted the nurse, feeling that she could finally interject.

"Yes," answered Vlad, his gaze unyielding as he just dared Danny to talk back at him.

"Dr. Monroe's ready for you and your son."

Danny winced at the title, wishing he could have died right there. People even thought he was Vlad's son even though he looked nothing like him! This was a nightmare.

…

Danny quickly found himself missing Dr. Webking.

Dr. Monroe, at first glance, seemed mostly harmless. She was a tiny framed woman with red, messy hair and squared framed glasses. If someone compared her to an animal, it would have to be a mouse. One would probably even expect her to be shy or soft-spoken, but no, oh no, that woman was the devil. And no the liter of blood she took or the claustrophobic MRI had nothing to do with it.

Okay, maybe a little.

Plus, she also had yeti hands. Cold, freezing, yeti hands.

Regardless, he did not like her. She just looked at him and poked at his organs (that's what it felt like) like an emotionally detached mortician. There was nothing warm or soft about her. In fact, part of him would have been sure she was the mortician from the morgue if the nurses hadn't kept calling her doctor as they assisted her in the poking, prodding, and blood drawing.

The only good thing about the whole interaction was the paleness that overcame Vlad as she stuck what had to be the eighth needle into his arm.

Vlad really did hate hospitals.

"Well, it looks like it is healing nicely given the circumstances. There is not much we can do for the scarring at this point though," finally finished the woman as she rewrapped his scarred and mangled arm. Danny, himself, couldn't look at it. The scarring was terrible and his flesh was sunken in places where they had to cut away dead flesh, leaving his arm looking like it had been mauled by a bear and then later burned for good measure.

He hated looking at it and changed his bandages at home as quickly as he could when he did them himself. Yes, Vlad had called in a few good surgeons to look at it after he had signed the adoption papers, but Danny knew the arm would never be the same. It was defiled now. It was weak.

He was weak.

"He should try using it a little more often now that the skin is healed. He needs to start building up the muscle in that arm again," she continued as she grabbed a pad and started writing something down.

"Nothing too strenuous," she added as he slid back on her stool, grabbing something out of a metal container. It turned out to be a lollipop and as insulted as Danny felt as he finished buttoning his shirt, he took it. It had been emotionally taxing being around this woman, especially when she asked for a full recount of what happened during the fire such as where he was standing, what kinds of chemicals were in the lab, and if the fire smelled odd or if it was a strange color. He knew she was probably trying to decipher what chemicals he had been exposed to during the fire, but he couldn't even talk to Vlad about that stuff. Why would he tell her?

"Thanks," said Danny softly as he ripped off the wrapper and plopped it into his mouth. "Are you going to add a few more pills to my already confusing pill regiment?"

Danny hated those pills. In truth, he sometimes forgot to take them unless his arm started to ache. He knew after his episode last night though, Vlad would be a tyrant when it came to his pill regiment. It had been so long since he had had an attack of any kind that Vlad almost seemed to forget he was sick … or Vlad had at least stopped treating him like glass. Honestly, Danny was starting to wonder if the pills were affecting his ghost abilities.

"I will go over it with your father," she added as she gave him a small sympathetic smile. Huh, she was human after all. Unfortunately, she had called Plasmius his father again.

"He's my godfather," pressed Danny moodily as he finished dressing.

Dr. Monroe, not the least bit affected by Danny's tone, merely nodded and stated, "I understand. Now, there is a waiting room down the hall. Please do not accidentally enter the maternity ward instead. I want to check Mr. Master's injuries from the car accident before you both leave. It should only take a few minutes."

Danny, not wanting to be guilt-ridden by seeing the bruises Vlad had gotten because of his secrets, was out of the room before the woman could look up from whatever she was writing. Vlad, sighing, soon found himself rising and taking up residence on the examination table. He was unbuttoning his shirt before she could even ask, his words tired.

"So, I take it the episode Daniel had last night is no cause for immediate concern?" he asked in a tired tone, wincing as he slid his shirt over his shoulder, revealing his bandaged chest and bruised torso.

"Well, I am a bit concerned about the chemicals he could have been exposed to during the fire, but as for the episode last night, from the description of it alone, I think it most likely physiological," said the physician as she pulled on a new set of gloves. "It's my medical opinion, especially with his trauma, that you get a psychologist for him to talk to. I can recommend a few good ones in the area if you want?"

Vlad could only frown, deep in thought. He'd rather have Daniel talk to him than a complete stranger. Besides, there were just some things a living psychologist just wouldn't be able to understand. He employed ghosts with wide skill sets so why not a psychologist as well? He had heard of a ghost called Spectra. Perhaps she was worth investigating.

…

Danny found he could not linger in the waiting room and so he allowed himself to wander the halls, rubbing his arm after the dozen or so shots he had received. That quickly turned into a bad idea.

As if on instinct he had wandered to the one place he wasn't supposed to be and didn't want to be: the maternity ward.

True, it wasn't like he had wandered into the ward but he was at the front doors, all color fading from his features as the dead mother's screams echoed in his head. And then, before rational thought could even lay root in his mind, Danny found himself running as fast as he could in the other direction. He was sure he had run into at least two nurses in his panic and an intern pushing a wheelchair, but he didn't care. He had to get away. He couldn't listen to her screams again, and he refused to recall the baby's suffocated sobs.

Even if they were only in his head.

A few halls later and a little bit of dry heaving into the janitor's sink in a supply closet, Danny wiped the drool from his mouth and slowly opened the door only to regret it. Where exactly was he?

The teen looked around with a frown. An ugly, puke green paint was peeling off the walls and the youth could have sworn he'd just seen a raccoon scurry down the abandoned hall. How had he gotten here? Was this part of the building abandoned or was something just messing with his head again? The teenager swallowed any panic he had, wishing that at least his tangibility worked, and looked around trying to decide which way to go.

After a few turns that just led to rooms housing old medical equipment, the teenager cursed his blind panic for not paying attention to where he was going.

"Wonderful, just wonderful, I'm trapped in the only part of the hospital where a murderer would probably lurk. Danny, you're a genius when it comes to getting into trouble," said the teenager to himself, trying to make his inner worries about the demon seem like little more than a joke. A bad joke. "Not that there is really anyone in here with me."

And yet, he was proven wrong in even that theory.

Danny, his expensive shoes clicking loudly in the empty halls as he desperately tried to find the exit, dwelt on anything he could until a slight whisper reached his ears. The teen stalled in his tracks and nervously pulled out the small ghost weapon he had borrowed from Vlad's not-so-secret-anymore lab.

Delicately, he wrapped his fingers around the handle and tiptoed over to the room from which soft voices were now coming.

Slowly, adrenaline pumping in his veins, he opened the door and jumped in pointing his ghost gun, his shout echoing, "I've found you demon!"

For a moment, Danny just stood there staring at what was definitely not a demon or a ghost of any kind. In fact, there was a voice laughing in the back of his head, telling him he just needed a jumpsuit and he would be the miniature copy of his dad with that presentation. A blush growing on his cheeks, Danny slowly brought down the ghost weapon and stared awkwardly at the small group of teenagers before him.

The staring continued until Danny noticed they were all paying particular attention to his ghost gun. So, he hid it behind his back, laughing nervously, "Oh, sorry. I ... didn't mean to point that at you. I just thought maybe you were," he didn't want to say ghosts and gain the reputation as a crazy kid so soon, so he went for the next best thing, "… not alive."

"Really? Not alive? That's a first," said a bulky blond teenage boy as he raised to his feet and ruffled his own hair in relief. "We thought you were security or the cops, but you are just some kid with ... a water gun?"

Danny pulled the Gnome from behind his back and stared at it, frowning as he murmured, "A water gun? This doesn't look like a water gun. For one, it's got glowing parts."

The halfa didn't know why he said that, but maybe it was for the honor of his father's and mother's design. The Gnome looked like cool tech, not a kid's toy.

The bulky teen, who seemed like he was trying to open some vents in the wall, turned back around and was likely to say something when a scruffy hyena-looking boy jumped forward with almost a fanboy squee as he gapped at the Gnome in Danny's hand.

"Drake, he's right. It's not a water gun. Sweet World of Warcraft, that is a new Vladco gun, isn't it? This model hasn't even come out yet, has it?" said the excited teenager as he came closer. He even plucked the tool right from Danny's grasp, pulling out a screwdriver so he could start tinkering with it.

Danny, a little too flabbergasted to do anything at first, watched in horror as the golden casing of the plasma gun fell off.

Quickly gaining back his wits, the halfa tried to grab it away, "Hey, don't do that! I need it!"

"Oh, stop tinkering with that Tech and get up here. We might miss something if we don't start moving," protested a third teenager. She was a slim Asian girl that was presently crawling up into the now-open vent with the help of another girl who looked like a stereotypical bookworm, fuzzy hair included. Where were all these dorks coming from? Though, secretly, a part of Danny wanted him to proudly proclaim that he had found his people.

Tech, giving a pouting, seemed ready to give in to the girl's demands and hand the gun back only to smile and suddenly run towards her, using her back as a springboard in order to get up into the vent first. He even had the audacity to laugh hysterically as he disappeared into the ventilation system. The slim girl only took a second to look offended before doing the same thing, using the blond boy's shoulder as a footstep. No one missed her growling threats as she chased the hyena-boy, something about killing him with her scarf.

Danny, briskly walking over to the bookworm-looking girl of the group, looked up at the vent, only to glare at the mousy girl, "Really, he just took my plasma gun. What is wrong with you people? Why are you even here? Give me my Gnome back!"

Then, the jock's words echoing in his head, he quickly added, "And why are you worried about cops? You are not an oddly grouped gang or something, are you? I wasn't just mugged, was I?"

"Pfff. Have you been under a rock?" mocked Drake as he pushed an old wheelchair upside down so the mousy girl could boost herself up. "There is a murderer on the loose. They murdered a woman and her newborn in this very hospital last night. That's why we thought you were the cops when you burst in here, booting us off the premises again. They've been after us all morning because we've been trying to see the murder scene. Thus, why we are now in the abandoned part of the hospital and why we are now crawling through the ventilation system to get a peek."

Great, thought Danny, I just ran into the modern version of Scooby Doo Mystery Inc. Now, the only question is who the dog is.

"Plus," whispered the meek-looking girl who Danny had mentally labeled as Velma. "W-we heard that Vlad Masters was here. Maybe we can catch a glimpse of him with his new son."

Danny choked, wanting to groan at the utter horror that was Vlad Master's reputation and how he was inadvertently part of it now.

"His son, huh? Really … that can't be that interesting," squeaked Danny, trying not to act guilty. "I'm sure he's blatantly normal and not very thought-provoking and isn't abnormal in any way."

"Are you kidding? The tabloids haven't even been able to get a picture of the Master's Heir. Vlad Master's has been keeping it hush-hush," said Drake excitedly. "I heard he is a hunch-back and horribly ugly from the house fire he got caught in. Apparently, the fire started because he was trying to bring back the dead."

Danny actually choked at the absurdity of it … and how oddly close it kind of was at the same time.

"I told you that was a rumor," added the mousy girl as she showed off the camera hung around her neck. "I hear his name is Daniel and he's supposed to be outrageously handsome."

Danny blushed at this as he sputtered to find something to say, "Well, uh … I'm sure he is … but I still need my gun back, and I can't crawl up there."

"What? Need a boost?" asked Drake as he started to assist the mousy girl up. "Do you have noodle arms and can't pull yourself up?"

Sputtering, feeling like his masculinity had just been insulted even though the other teenager's tone held no true contempt, Daddy groused, "My arms are just fine. It's just that I don't know you people. I'm not climbing into filthy vents with you. One of you might be a murder or something."

"Oh, you are one of those kinds of kids that is sheltered way too much, aren't you?" asked Drake, giving him a piteous glance.

"Wait? What? What do you mean by one of those kids?"

"Nothing, nothing," said Drake as he took a wobbly step onto the flipped wheelchair. "Also … if you get that Gnome gun back at all, it probably will be in pieces. Tech goes to Red Raven Academy on a scholarship because of his unfathomable curiosity … meaning he likes to take things apart. Too bad he's not so good about putting them back together."

"Really?" groaned Danny, surrendering as he came forward. "Fine. I'll crawl into the mold-infested vents, get stuck, and when they are tearing the hospital down fifty years later they will find our bones. Either way, cold boney grasp or not, I want my gun back."

Drake gave him a bewildered look before he laughed, offering Danny a boost up as he stated, "That's the spirit! If one must be bones, it's best to be bones together."

Unknowingly, Danny had just become the newest part of the Scooby gang … most likely in the position of the dog.

…

Elsewhere in the hospital, Vlad winced slightly as Dr. Monroe ran her fingers over the burn on his neck. She had done it three times already, this confused yet calculating look on her face that Vlad did not quite trust.

Not that he really trusted anyone.

Deciding to interrupt the silence, he asked, "Is there something wrong? Do you think it is going to scar badly?"

Pulling away as if noticing that she had been staring, she murmured, "We have ointments that will help reduce the scaring, I will write you a prescription, it's just that I thought the burn was more severe than this. The emergency doctor must have overestimated its severity."

Or it could be his ghost abilities working on high gear. It helped him heal quickly, and was one of the reasons he ignored hospitals. True, most doctors weren't exactly looking for ectoplasmic corruption or mutation, but he could always blame it on his ecto-acme from college. The same went for Danny, except the foreign material would be blamed on the fire. If any of the tests had shown anything hinting at his half-ghost nature, it would be written up as chemical exposure. Not an air-tight excuse, but at least it kept the Guys In White off their back.

"And if you don't mind he asking," continued Dr. Monroe, the woman interrupting his worries about the GIW and if he would have to start scrubbing medical records. "How did you get this burn mark? I know you were in a car accident, but this mark looks identical to another patient of mine. I was wondering if they are related."

She, of course, forgot to mention that said patient was now on a cold slab in the morgue, but Vlad didn't need to know how her patient had died nor the burn marks on her body.

Frowning, not liking the way she was staring at him as if she was waiting for a confession, he sat back and pulled on his shirt before he answered, "Honestly, I do not know. I awoke with it after the accident."

The doctor nodded and with the same calculating eyes asked, "And did anyone witness the accident?"

Daniel had to a point, even though he told the cops he was trapped in the car most of the time. Vlad, of course, knew better. There was some type of confrontation on the bridge, but the teen refused to speak to him. It was beyond frustrating and if he wasn't worried about the boy's fragility, he'd just battle it out of the boy. Rivalry seemed so much easier than parenting. He kind of missed their stupid battles.

Opening his mouth, about to state that there was no one reliable that witnessed the incident, a large squeak suddenly came from the ceiling interrupting the silence, making both adults jump as they looked up at the strangely sagging ceiling.

…

SQUEAK!

"What was that?" Danny squawked. He could have sworn that the vent had just moved below him.

"I don't know. Quiet. It's hard to hear anything with this and the discussion just took an interesting turn," said Tech as he continued to press his stethoscope-looking device to the base of the vent.

"What, did he reveal that he is a criminal mastermind and he wants her to join his league of evildoers?" asked Drake which made Danny choke again with just how close and yet how wrong he was.

"Shh, no. I think we are about to get an awkward kissing scene," blushed the oriental girl who Danny had mentally labeled Daphne as she leaned in close to Tech in order to hear through his headset.

All the boys, currently in a crossway in the vent's systems, shared a skeptical look. Well, Danny's was more of a horrified expression, especially when a rather large squeak scared all of them, the vent suddenly shaking.

"Um, we will discuss that later and how wrong you are, Lisa," said Drake, aka the Fred of the group, "because I think we have bigger issues than the mystery of Vlad Masters and his godson."

"Oh, thank Sunday Breakfast," whispered Danny as if he had just dodged a bullet, cringing a second later when he realized he had just used a phrase Vlad would.

"Why?" asked the Velma girl as she looked up from her digital map of the hospital's vents.

"Now … nobody panic, but I think the VENT'S COLLAPSING!"

"WAIT?!"

"WHAT?"

"AHHHH!"

"EEEKKK!"

SQUEAKkkkkkkkkkkk!

…

Pulling his jacket on, staring upward at the ceiling as his eyebrows creased, Vlad murmured, "Miss Monroe … perhaps you should call maintenance. That squeaking can't be good."

Monroe, taking a step back when a small amount of plaster rained down on her and Vlad, agreed, "Yes, definitely. It's the ventilation system no doubt. Probably raccoons or something got in them."

SQEeeeeAKKKK!

"It sounds too big for raccoons," cringed Vlad before a second later the ceiling caved in.

Sheetrock, metal, and teenagers went flying everywhere. White dust filled the scene as someone fell in Vlad's arms, making the man almost stumble and fall forward though the extra strength of his ghost half side kept him standing.

Resisting the urge to drop whoever was in his arms, Vlad coughed violently as the dust and debris got into his lungs along with everyone else in the room.

Only after a few moments of coughing, moaning, and creative curses did the dust settle enough to reveal the carnage.

Dr. Monroe, her hair and pretty much her whole form now a white dusty color, actually showed a peak of emotion as she snapped, "Who are you kids, and what have you done?!"

Vlad, only looking at the coughing one for a moment, turned to his own problem at hand. Literally at hand considering there was a squirming body in his arms. It was some odd-looking kid with a crazy haircut and … what was he holding? Was that his modified Gnome Plasma Gun? Where in the great Candy Kingdom did he get that?!

Setting the lanking teenager on his feet, Masters promptly pulled the half dissected weapon away, his tone struggling to remain calm as he almost barked, "Where did you get this? Why were you even in the vents? Are you some technology spy?"

The teenager, a look of awe and horror on his face, could only murmur, "So it is yours … it's beautiful. Can I touch your head so that I may know creative genius?"

Vlad, leaning back slightly, didn't know if he should ask again or get a restraining order on the spot, yet he suddenly got one of his answers when a very dusty colored Danny pushed a vent off of himself and stood there a moment, a look of horror morphing on his features.

"Well, at least that answers that question, doesn't it Daniel?" asked Vlad as he dusted his shoulder off, the slightest hitch of anger in his voice. "I would scold you for taking prototypes without permission, but I think that is on the bottom tier of problems we have right now ... given the lack of a ceiling."

Danny at that very moment, as he was ogled by the other surprised and gapping teenagers in the room, felt what it was really like to be Vlad Master's heir … and he hated it. He just wanted to be Danny Fenton. Just Danny. Not Daniel. Not the Master's heir. Not a tabloid secret. He just wanted to be Danny.

Standing there, feeling the others gape as he rubbed his arm, he felt that Vlad couldn't have thought of a better punishment if he had actually tried. Not even when Vlad had said how disappointed he was in Danny as they left the hospital, did Danny forget the looks he had received. Here he had thought Vlad would be the bane of his new existence, but it seemed that the man's reputation was just as equally terrible. Those teenagers' playful glances quickly turned into something else like a strange mixture of awe and judgment. It made him feel like an item, something to be obtained or closely observed.

It was not a feeling he liked. The only thing that could make this day worse was if Vlad figured out exactly why he had snatched a ghost weapon to begin with.

XXX

Paw07: You know, even with how angsty this whole thing is, this chapter was pretty cute. I'll admit it, I giggled at my own writing. It's cartoonish and perhaps a little more genuine to the actual series, but the angst will return. Don't you worry. :3

Edits: I practically had to re-write every scene. I even deleted a scene with Skulker and Walker, threw out the original Dr. Monroe introduction, Gatzby the detective didn't even get his brief introduction nor the Mystery Inc. kids' original introduction. But this chapter was just so filler-y. Regardless, I added about 2,000 words to this puppy. I don't even want to know how long this story is going to be when I'm done if I keep adding words at this rate. Probably 300,000 instead of the original 210,000-ish it was. Ugh.

(Revisions October 2021)